Exchange Rated
by Blackpenny
Summary: Philip Mortimer and Olrik exchanged bodies for a whole story. Tell me that wasn't weird.
1. Chapter 1

_What do you want?_

They're going to take you away in ten minutes. I propose a mutual exchange of information.

 _Your body is fine, professor. I treated it at least as well as you ever did._

Explain.

 _I went to the athletic club three times a week and didn't eat any sweets. You should be grateful._

Sweets are not a weakness with me and I am not in the least grateful. At least you had the sense to stay away from the lab. I assume you made your way through my files.

 _I did my homework. Congratulations on not keeping anything classified at home. So disappointing._

Hmph. And you read my notes. Why did you drag Miss Summertown into this? Just general cruelty?

 _A charming woman, a widow with money…_

I see. You would have left Park Lane, and then what?

 _That's not what you want to know. I didn't touch her, Mortimer, as much as she wanted me to. Nor did I sully the lovely Nastasia._

Were you with anyone? Tell me you didn't see a professional.

 _Oh, yes, as often as possible. And heroin. Oh, and you've joined a nudist association._

If you can't be serious…

 _Oh, please, professor! What a prurient imagination you have! I have never felt the need to pay, if you truly want to know._

Glad to see you have some standards.

 _What about you? Did you take mine for a test drive?_

Too busy.

 _A likely story. I bet you at least got drunk._

It's not my fault you're a lightweight. One who can't take a punch worth a damn, I might add. But I assure you that I was very busy keeping out of trouble; yours isn't a face one can take just anywhere. Did you do anything that I'll have to explain?

 _Nothing serious. Your doctor may be more worried about your memory than he should be. You, on the other hand, destroyed Youseff and dragged poor Razul into this._

Razul and Youseff brought it on themselves with their greed Besides, I had to get them involved to stop them from taking revenge, so I saved your hide there. I have no regrets. No, actually, I should have shaved your mustache.

 _Ha! I would have grown one for you. Did you know your absurd beard is closely associated with a fringe religion in the American states? But you'll be happy to know that I lived a quiet life while I made my plans. I should have spent more of your money. There will packages waiting for you at Park Lane._

I'm donating the clothes I bought for your body. And burning the underthings.

 _That reminds me; I may have given some of your more egregiously ugly items to the deserving poor._

If you weren't in handcuffs I would teach you a lesson. It would take all of two minutes.

 _My dear professor, such unbecoming anger! I, on the other hand, enjoyed my little holiday and wish nothing but the best to you and yours._ _All_ _of yours._

What's that supposed to mean?

 _Nothing, professor. We're done._

Only for now.


	2. Mortimer

The first thing Phillip Mortimer noticed once the shock wore off was how much more susceptible this body was to cold. He was half-perished by the time he made it to the Norwegian base camp and didn't give a thought to his new appearance until he lifted a cup of hot grog to his lips and wet his pencil mustache.

He'd thought about shaving that horrid thing off at least a hundred times. Every time he lifted the razor, Mortimer became aware that the thin black line served to shorten Olrik's long slab of a face, and he'd put the blade away. Now Mortimer wishes he had not only shaved the mustache, but also made a few other modifications to Olrik's body – shave the head, add a Union Jack tattoo, maybe get circumcised.

Oh, don't get him started on that. It's Olrik's own fault that Mortimer even knows this: no circumcision, a few fillings, no birthmarks beyond a mole or two, not much body hair, but plenty of small scars. Mortimer could now pick Olrik's cock (or feet, or fore-arms) out of a line-up and he resents it mightily.

Mortimer has reviewed the body swap story with a dozen different people and each time he's seen the questions in the eyes. What was it really like? You know, really. He's volunteered a few details: Olrik has no great capacity for alcohol; dairy products don't agree with him; he functions best with six hours of sleep a night and is built more for speed than strength. He's prone to headaches in windy weather but otherwise is healthy and quick to heal. He can throw a punch better than he can take one.

What was strangest? Well, looking in the mirror and seeing that face – a shock every time. Everything was off just enough to be annoying– the length of stride, the reach, the fit of clothes – and he could never forget it. Mortimer had stubbed his toes and rapped his knuckles daily, unable to fully inhabit a longer body. The extra reach was useful, but Olrik doesn't have Mortimer's muscle mass and it was frustrating to meet "extra" resistance every time he lifted something. Olrik's body was able to function for a long time without food, but was much more difficult to keep warm – everything was a trade-off.

And the question behind every smirk: did you... you know? So stupid. Of course, Mortimer hadn't had much time for socializing as he'd chased his "real" body from one country to another, but yes, on a few lonely nights in hotel rooms, he had seen to his own needs. It felt different but not in a particularly revealing way. The only thing that experiment had shown is that the most important sex organ is the brain.

Mortimer's opinion is that Olrik should be damned grateful to get his own body back in such good shape, not that the renegade is capable of gratitude or any higher emotion. To be fair, Olrik took care of the body he inhabited as well. Since the restoration, Mortimer has checked himself thoroughly and has not found any change or damage, which is a comfort given that Olrik had thoroughly ransacked the Park Lane study. Just thinking about those rifled files enrages Mortimer.

If he gets a chance, Mortimer will punch Olrik right in his nose and his gut, and thank the bastard for revealing these weaknesses. Serve him right.


	3. Olrik

Olrik had been ready to kill his own body just to spite Mortimer, but that was just a fit of madness borne of anger. Even with the handcuffs, shackles, and the lingering affects of anesthesia, it's good to be back. Stealing someone else's body and life would have been a great coup, especially if he'd been able to pull off the Gondwana caper, but there were downsides.

Mortimer's body was actually better than Olrik had expected - the professor's habitual tweeds and jumpers do him no favors – but it's a completely different type. It's harder to dress a shorter, sturdier body, for one thing. It was also annoying to lose height, reach, and length of stride. Yes, Mortimer is stronger, but he's far less agile. Olrik was surprised at how much he'd missed that. If he'd stayed in Mortimer's body he would have had to give up some favorite vegetables that played havoc with the new system and get used to the professor's capacity to heat himself. The man is an absolute furnace, but what would you expect from someone with that coloring?

Oh, god, the _hair_. Red hair on one's head is bad enough, but of course it didn't stop there. Olrik had choked back laughter when he changed for bed that first night. Red hair everywhere! His chest positively carpeted, a veritable forest fire down below - with a topped tree. That was also a little odd; why do parents clip their infant boys like that? At least it worked fine as far as the hydraulics and whatnot went.

Settling into life at Park Lane had been easier than he'd expected. Blake had been tactful and patient with his lapses. It's hard to express the relief he'd felt when it became clear that the professor and the captain did not share a bed. Of course, Olrik had made a point of mentioning his terrible headaches right away, just in case. It's all very well to be open-minded about such things, but not with Blake. No, no, a thousand times no.

There's no way in hell Olrik would have been able to con the lab staff, but he hadn't needed to. Everyone had been so kind and understanding. Take some time off, professor. Can I get you a cup of tea, sir? Would you like to go for a stroll, old man? Mrs. Benson had made all the professor's favorite meals, some of which were also Olrik's favorites. Sarah and Nastasia had showered him with warmth and approval. It was refreshing, almost, well, therapeutic after the hell of the gulag and Ashoka. Olrik admits to himself that he will miss that a little, along with walking through London unarmed and undisguised. People who live the straight life have no idea how demanding full-time crime can be. Mortimer will be home soon, safe and comfortable, dammit. He will no doubt renew his relationship with the lovely Sarah… in which case he's in for a surprise. It's a melancholy thought for Olrik, almost enough to get a man to consider settling down, although god knows how he'd manage that.

Right now he has to manage an escape. There will likely be a fuss over extradition and several transfers to come. Bribery might be the ticket. All he needs is one guard to drop a key, one bureaucrat to lose the right papers. Olrik expects to be free and back at work within two weeks, whatever that work will be. He sighs and stretches as best he can with all the binding, clanking chains. Vacations are never long enough.


End file.
